Page 147 of Slapshot Bride

I drag in another breath and attempt to pull myself together. By the time I walk out the door, I do it empty-handed. I don’t take anything.

The clothes are his. The camera he gave me. The jersey with his number. I leave all of it, because none of it was ever mine, and because I can’t touch any of it without coming apart.

All I leave is a note. One that rips my heart out.

Easton,

I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. The fake thing, the hiding, all of it. It was never going to be real and we both knew it. You gave me my life back and now I have to go live it. Please don’t come after me. This is what I want.

Thank you. For everything.

R.

I walk out to the car, and I get in beside Preston, and the door shuts. The gate slides back, and the house gets smaller in the side mirror, and it’s happening, it’s actually happening.

I’m leaving. No more Easton Blake.

This reality hits me hard, and the truth I’ve been fighting finally lands.

I’m in love with him. I’ve been in love with him for a while now. From the moment he placed that camera in my hands and handed me my life back.

And I told Mason it was fake.

That’s the thought that breaks me, quietly, with Preston six inches away and the city blurring past.

I press my forehead to the cool window so Preston won’t see my face as I fight the tears.

“You made the right choice,” he says.

I don’t answer him.

I did this for Easton, not for him.

That doesn't make it hurt any less.

31

EASTON

It Was Never Going to Be Real

The gate takes eleven seconds to open. I’ve never once counted before.

I count tonight because I’m nervous, which is ridiculous.

I’ve played in front of eighteen thousand people. I’ve been checked into the boards by men who weigh two hundred and thirty pounds.

And I’m standing in my own driveway at nine at night with my palms damp and buried in my pants pocket because I’m about to tell Riley Brooks the truth.

All of it. Maya, the party, the six months of payments, the phone call with her brother that I lied about at six-fifteen in the morning with her standing right in front of me.

And then the last part, the part I’ve been rehearsing since the night in Chicago.

I'm in love with you, and I don't want us pretending anymore. I want this to be real.

The car is in the turnaround. She’s home.

My heart skips.